


Mama Barnes' Infamous Chicken Soup

by StrawberryLane



Series: Seven minutes in heaven [16]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Chicken Soup, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Peter's sick, Precious Peter Parker, Sick Character, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 09:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16385591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryLane/pseuds/StrawberryLane
Summary: Bucky pouts. “Poor baby. Lucky for you, I come armed with years worth of knowledge on how to take care of sick boys and Mama Barnes’ infamous chicken soup.”“Really?” the prospect of hot soup inside of him perks Peter up, despite the fact that he’s not really feeling hungry.“Yeah,” Steve calls from the kitchen. “And it’s vile.”Bucky makes an indignant noise. “Don’t talk shit about my ma like that, Rogers!”





	Mama Barnes' Infamous Chicken Soup

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sick and all I can think of is carrot cake.

“You know what will make me feel better?” asks Peter from where he’s spread out on the couch beneath a mountain of blankets and pillows and a million pieces of toilet paper with his snot all over them. It’s kind of disgusting, Bucky thinks.

 

Bucky shakes his head, putting down his book to properly look over at his boyfriend. “No, what?”

 

“Carrot cake,” rasps Peter. “I really feel like carrot cake will really cure me.”

 

“I don’t think carrot cake will help your stuffy nose and aching limbs, sweetheart.”

 

“I do. Please, Bucky?”

 

Bucky groans. The things he does for this kid, honestly. “All right.”

 

*

Peter honestly thought he was immune to things like common colds or the flu, because come on, he’s Spider Man. Superheroes don’t get sick, that’s like, universal knowledge. But here he is, his nose stuffy, his head feeling like it’s full of cotton candy, freezing in a room that’s warmer than it’s probably ever been before.

 

This is some bullshit, really. He doesn’t have time to be sick.

 

“I’m sick,” he whines into the phone that is balanced on the edge of the couch. “I feel awful. Come take care of me.”

 

“Can’t, buddy,” Bucky’s tinny voice informs him. To his credit, Peter thinks, he does sound genuinely sorry.

 

“Why not?”

 

“You know what May said. No unsupervised visits.”

 

“But I’m si-”

 

“Yeah, I know. But May’s on a trip, right? That means she won’t be home and my showing up to take care of you will be seen as an unsupervised visit, no matter how sick you are.”

 

“She’ll understand. And she’s no where near as strict as you seem to think she is. Bucky. Please.”

 

On the other end of the line, Bucky hums. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll take care of you. Don’t go anywhere.”

 

Peter coughs. “I won’t.”

 

Forty five minutes later, Bucky shows up with grocery bags and Steve Rogers in tow.

 

“Aw, baby,” he says as he sets down the bags on the kitchen counter, coming over to check on Peter. Behind them, Steve busies himself with putting away the groceries, making a disgusted sound at Bucky’s cooing.

 

“Hi Steve,” Peter croaks from the couch, because May didn’t raise him to be rude. Steve waves at him and Bucky chuckles as he crouches down in front of the couch. “I found a solution to our chaperone problem,” he says while putting a cold hand to Peter’s forehead to check for fever. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like shit,” Peter mumbles. “I didn’t think I could get sick anymore.”

 

Bucky pouts. “Poor baby. Lucky for you, I come armed with years worth of knowledge on how to take care of sick boys and Mama Barnes’ infamous chicken soup.”

 

“Really?” the prospect of hot soup inside of him perks Peter up, despite the fact that he’s not really feeling hungry.

 

“Yeah,” Steve calls from the kitchen. “And it’s vile.”

 

Bucky makes an indignant noise. “Don’t talk shit about my ma like that, Rogers!”

 

“You know I loved that woman, Buck, but she couldn’t cook for shit. And I would know, I’ve eaten way more of that soup than you ever have.”

 

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Bucky tells Peter. “And you will have that soup. I bought all the stuff for you.”

 

“I’m not sure-”

 

“Nonsense. It’ll make you right as rain in no time,” Bucky informs him, heading back to the kitchen area. Peter burrows deeper inside his nest of blankets, trying desperately to get warm. Suddenly another blanket descends on him from above, Steve’s face visible out of the corner of Peter’s eye.

 

“Here you go,” says Steve, tucking Peter in and taking a seat in one of the armchairs next to the couch. Peter makes a grateful noise.

 

“I got kicked out of helping with the food for talking shit about Mrs Barnes’ cooking skills,” Steve says conversationally. “I stand by what I said, tough. That woman was the kindest, most generous woman I’ve ever met aside from my ma, but she couldn’t cook for the life of her. Whenever there was a reason to celebrate she liked to put perfectly edible stuff inside a clump of gelatin to make it seem more festive.”

 

Steve makes a disgusted face. “Let me tell you, you haven’t experienced true horror until you’re forced to pretend that you really like eating jellied tuna salad.”

 

“Quit talking shit about my ma or I’m going to beat your ass!” yells Bucky, coming out from behind the kitchen counter, wearing May’s apron and holding a wooden spoon out threateningly.

 

“Like you don’t talk shit about your ma on a daily basis,” Steve tells him, not looking at all concerned about the spoon being waved in his face.

 

Bucky harrumphs. “That’s different. She’s my ma. I can talk about her shit cooking all I want.”

 

“Ha,” says Steve, like he just proved a point and Bucky’s face turns sour.

 

“Stop it,” he says to Peter, who’s started giggling. “Just for that I’m giving you double portions.”

 

*

 

The soup isn’t actually as weird and horrible as Peter feared. Sure, it’s nowhere near May’s usual chicken broth, but it’s still perfectly edible. And piping hot, which is what Peter desires the most.

 

Steve stares at him in betrayal when he tells Bucky it’s actually “kind of okay.” Bucky, in turn, smiles triumphantly and flips Steve off.

 

They channel surf for a while, eventually settling on reruns of the office. Peter slurps his soup, Steve pulls out a book at random from the bookshelf and makes himself at home in the armchair and Bucky forces Peter to drink lots of water and eat raw garlic.

 

“I read it could help,” he says and nods at his phone when Peter splutters at the garlic clove being unceremoniously shoved into his open mouth. “Chew on that,” Bucky orders him and goes back into the kitchen to cut up a huge amount of oranges.

 

It turns out Bucky turns into a bit of a mother hen when someone he loves falls sick. “This is completely normal,” Steve laughs when Peter questions Bucky’s behavior. “You should have seen him when I got the flu in 1926. He was nine and already an absolute terror. Think he kind of scared my ma, actually.”

 

“Shut up.” grouses Bucky, now forcing orange slice after orange slice on Peter. “You should have a bath,” he tells Peter. “A warm bath with lots of bubbles. Baths make everything better.”

 

A bath sounds really good actually, Peter thinks. He feels gross, finally starting to get warm and sweaty. His sweatpants feel like they’re sticking to his legs in the most uncomfortable way. “Yeah,” he croaks, lifting his arms and silently begging his boyfriend to carry him to the bathroom. Walking feels like it would be a tremendous effort.

 

Bucky takes pity on him, scooping him up, blankets and all and carries him to the bathroom. The old bathtub is already full of piping hot water. It calls to him.

 

Bucky helps him out of his clothes, proceeding to dump everything, including the blankets, in the laundry basket. The water feels blessedly warm and silky against Peter’s skin. He sighs, falling back against the edge of the tub.

 

“Don’t fall asleep,” Bucky tells him, his hands feeling really nice as they move through Peter’s hair.

 

“Won’t.” Peter mumbles, feeling like he really might the moment Bucky leaves him alone.

 

*

Almost an hour later, Peter’s back on the couch, dressed in fresh pajama pants and huddled beneath fresh blankets. Steve’s asleep, snoring with the book he was reading laying forgotten on his chest. Bucky’s next to Peter on the couch, reading a book of his own.

 

Peter loudly blows his nose every five minutes or so. “Please,” he whines, “carrot cake. I need it.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I’ll get right on that, as soon as I’ve finished this chapter.”

 

Peter blows his nose again, even louder this time. Bucky groans, closing his book. “Okay. Okay, I’m on it.”

 

Peter mutes the television, content with listening to the sounds of Bucky puttering around the kitchen and Captain America snoring in his living room. He can feel himself slipping away, into the land of dreamless sleep.

 

When he wakes up, there’s a plate with a piece of still warm carrot cake and a mountain of cream cheese frosting on top waiting for him. Bucky’s back in his seat next to Peter on the couch, quietly eating his own slice and reading his book. Steve’s eating too, his attention transfixed on the muted television.

 

He feels better already, he thinks as he reaches out to grab the plate and stuff his face with homemade carrot cake.

 

*

 

Peter’s just gotten out of school when his phone chimes three days later.

 

_**From BB:** I’m sick because of you now. I demand you come by with cuddles and carrot cake to make up for this horrible turn of events. _

 

_**To BB:** On my way. Bringing chicken broth too. And lots of ginger tea._

 


End file.
